Death hung in the air, spreading a pungent, sweet odour that made the tjati’s bile rise in his throat. Behind the warden lay two people who were no longer moving. The heat drained even the death from their bodies, wrapping itself tightly around the decaying corpses with the aim of turning them to dust.
The snap of the whip drew his gaze back to the action. Another man was being whipped, relentless and unyielding. Blood oozed from burst wounds while the boy crouched on the ground, waiting for his end.
“You don’t seem to read the messages they send you,” Assou interjected, loud enough to stop the overseer and cause his gaze to waver in the vizier’s direction. His eyes slid along him a few times. At least the elegant clothing didn’t make him look like a run-of-the-mill idiot.
“Who are you and why are you meddling in my affairs?” Without further ado, the overseer spat out before running a hand over his bald head and crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“It’s not your business,” Assou replied. “Your treatment of the slaves is entirely Egypt’s business. I remember I sent you a message clearly stating how you should deal with the slaves.”
Silence fell between them for a moment before the overseer’s features relaxed, and his eyes widened. He seemed to have put the pieces of the puzzle together as he lowered his arms and bowed deeply. “Forgive my unkind tone, Vizier.”
Assou waved away his apology. “What is your excuse for these circumstances? News has reached me of hundreds of slaves still dying in less than nine days.”
“My lord, they are slaves. Is it not irrelevant whether they live or die? They are replaceable. Forgive my ignorance, but I don’t understand the problem.”
“The problem,” the tjati continued with a sigh, “is that the resources for new slaves have been used up. We have to take care of what we possess if this construction is to be completed without us having to do it ourselves. Or do you want to continue the construction alone?”
“No, my lord.” The overseer shook his head hastily. “What can I do to avoid that?”
Of course, he didn’t want to lend a hand. Physically hard labour was reserved for poor people. For the people who couldn’t find work elsewhere and still had to survive somehow. Assou could understand that. He didn’t have the strength for physically hard labour himself. Filling the gaps that had been torn open would wear them both out in no time.
“What I already noted in my last message. Give the slaves a day’s rest every seven days. Increase the food and water rations. A break in the morning where they can rest. No work after sunset,” he listed the points he had recorded at some point. It was enough freedom to improve life out here. More food would keep them going and enough water would ensure no one broke down under the heat. The rest was nothing more than kindness, which Assou spread in the knowledge Ramesses II would agree with his ideas.
That was the simple part of his job. He was the king’s right-hand man. The people surrendered to his will without asking whether Ramesses had agreed. In addition, better treatment of slaves improved the image of the country. They did their work and obeyed, completed their labour in the same time and lasted longer than others. A friendly treatment Assou could observe more easily than the eternal whippings spreading nothing but hatred. Resentment that could drive these men to rebellion.
“I will heed your instructions, my Vizier. I will take the first steps today,” the overseer promised, and even if the tjati wanted to believe him, he was aware of the idiosyncrasies embedded in people.
“Very well. I will send a guard every week to check the circumstances.” It was the safest way, and his counterpart showed nothing but understanding. A lack of trust was nothing new in this world.
With a restrained nod, Assou revealed to the warden that business was concluded. A classic gesture to fill the strange void between the fronts. Only then did he turn the mare round and trot past the two guards, who had fixed him with watchful eyes. They were only a short distance from him and yet there was enough room for someone to stand in their middle. Almost as if they could see more than he could.
The way back passed them by lazily. The sand baptised the land golden. The sun sank a little lower with every breath and the silence was only broken by the snorting of the horses as they trudged along the firm paths.
All the way to the palace, the day seemed to wrap itself in a pre-evening robe. The sky took on the same colour as the land, and the light only burned in the corners like a forgotten fire. By the time Assou had put his horse back in the stable, there was no longer a trace of the sun and the sky lay above him in a pale, dark discord. Not much longer and the evening would have swallowed them all whole.
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“Vizier!” Out of nowhere, before Assou could even reach the inside of the palace, one slave stopped him; a young man whose flawless body suggested he was one of the queen's assistants.
“What is it?”
“The Great Royal Queen Maathorneferure is asking for you.”
The sigh on his lips weighed heavily. The slaves had pushed this woman to the back of his mind, and just to think she was bored enough to ask for him didn’t bode well. Especially not when Fatrada was part of the palace.
“Tell her I don’t have time to deal with her absurd ways. I am a vizier. I have work to do.” Without further ado, Assou waved it off. Whatever she wanted, he wouldn’t give it to her. She had already played all her cards. There was nothing she had left to hold against him.
“She knew you would refuse,” the slave replied slowly. “Therefore, I am to inform you that if your decision isn’t reconsidered, the consequences could be unpleasant.”
“What does she want to do? Explain to our pharaoh how she would be a better vizier than me?”
“She said something about whipping a woman you cared about. One hundred lashes.” The man bowed. “And a hundred more if you still haven’t turned up at her place afterwards.”
Of course, she would go that far. Even if he had told Dinem to keep an eye on Fatrada, a slave was nothing against a queen. If Maathorneferure wanted something, she would take it. She dug her nails into the object of her desire and tore it to pieces whenever she pleased. This made her dangerous and vulnerable as well. She couldn’t see beyond the walls she had set for herself.
Still, all Assou could do was snort as he nodded to the slave and pushed his way into the palace, straight to Maathorneferure’s room.
Knocking would have been too kind. Doing her the favour of having more power than she deserved was out of the question. So he opened the door without warning and entered – straight into the rose-scented room of the beast who had summoned him. Behind that was the sweet smell of lust. Moaning. Different from what he had heard from the slaves and yet similar in its own way.
The fabrics hanging down stole the tjati’s vision, so he entered and fought his way through the colours until he arrived at the exact spot where he had slept with two female slaves before. Maathorneferure was resting on her bed, her head propped up in one hand. A sight he could only hold for a moment before he glanced to the side, where two men were making love to a woman. Their skin seemed to melt into that of their partners and Assou’s nose wrinkled as he took in the sight of a man’s backside. It wasn’t a pleasant view and yet he was mesmerised as he watched them take this woman between them and stuff every available opening.
“You didn’t knock.” Maathorneferure’s smile briefly touched him. “Could you sense the lust in the corridor and weren’t able to hold back? Or were you worried it might happen to the palace’s new slave?”
“Neither,” he confessed. “I just didn’t see a reason to knock and wait to be invited.” He shrugged his shoulders. “What do you want from me?”
“Look at them.” Instead of answering, she returned her attention to her slaves, who gave free rein to their lust. “They’re like animals, aren’t they? The main thing is to get the lust out of their bodies. Nobody would say no to a chance, would they?”
He raised his eyebrows indecisively. Whether she spoke to him or wanted to keep to herself, only the gods knew, but her words were nothing more than the nature they lived in. She smiled at something that was part of being human and yet lay outlandishly between them. Maathorneferure remained mesmerised by the sight, by the willing sounds of three humans pleasuring themselves in front of her because she had told them to. Her world was more twisted than his own.
“I thought I’d give you a treat if you could see something you’d otherwise be denied.” All at once, Maathorneferure addressed him again. “I suppose no woman gives you pleasure willingly.”
“What gives you that idea?” He raised his brows.
“You’re a vizier who only cares about work. Apart from that, you’re by no means lovable or handsome. Women who show interest do so because of your status, not because of your...” She searched for the right words before smirking. “Because of your face.”
“Such words from a queen who isn’t expecting a child.” Without further ado, the tjati tilted his head. “Should you really mock someone like me when you can’t even be a good wife to Ramesses?”
“Ramesses?” She laughed. “Ramesses is nothing more than a foolish man who doesn’t do justice to a goddess. He talks about things he thinks are great and yet he remains a small man in the middle of the plans the gods have made.” She brushed one of her long, dark strands of hair behind her ear with nimble fingers. “Not to mention he hardly seems potent.”
“Which explains why you asked for me. You are desperate.” Assou couldn’t help smiling. The possibility of provocation remained too tempting. “That explains your bottomless threat. If I don’t come here and pay attention to you, who will?”
Instantly, her lips twisted into a biting grimace before she regained her composure and shifted her position. Previously placed sideways on the bed, she now sat up straight, legs crossed – ready to execute him whenever she pleased.
“Bring her here!” She snapped her fingers and encouraged a few slaves to run off. For a few breaths, nothing seemed to happen until they returned with a woman who made Assou gulp.
Fatrada staggered between them, exhausted but still in good health. There was no sign of the anger with which she had rebuked him.
Next to Maathorneferure, the slaves dumped her and it seemed as if the sheer weight of the circumstances was dragging her to the ground. She fell to her knees as if there was no support and although Assou wanted to pull her to him in those seconds, there were too many hurdles ahead of him – especially the Third Great Royal Queen.